reinforcement…and pigeons.
I wonder if I should tell him Katie thinks she might be a lesbian, but I decide against it. As the second course is served I wonder if I should mention my tea date with Eoin tomorrow, but I decide against that too.
It’s funny but suddenly I’m quite enjoying this lunch. It’s nice sitting here with Bruce, my brooch, and our second bottle of Chilean wine. There’s a poignant, illicit feeling about it. Bruce hasn’t been so attentive in years.
‘I always know when you’re drunk. Your face goes all fuzzy,’ says Bruce. It’s an old joke that always makes us laugh.
Then he grows more serious. ‘Come home with me. Come home with me right now.’
‘And what’ll we do when we get there? Watch Teletubbies? ’
‘I have something rather different in mind.’
Bruce can be very sexy when he wants to be. His voice gets a bit husky and his eyes grow dark and tender. It’s been so long now. It would be nice to be held close. The anger would make it exciting. Yes, it would be nice to thrash around again under our big duvet. To fuck. To forget.
And then the image of the fake diamond hair grip swims before me. It’s lying there, stuck into a peach coloured pillowcase, just like the day I found it.
‘I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing!’ I get up and fling down my napkin. ‘Have you no sensitivity at all?’
The couple beside us are openly gawking.
‘Jasmine, come back. I didn’t mean to – ’
‘I’m not a pigeon!’ I yell. And then I grab my coat.
Back at the computer course I make myself a strong cup of tea. Then I tell Mrs Riordan I have a period pain and go and sit in the ladies’. The toilet paper is that shiny stupid stuff that’s no good for tears, and I only have one paper handkerchief with me.
I should have taken some tissues from that big box in the restaurant loo…but I really didn’t think I’d need them.
Chapter 7
Eoin has four remarkably long hairs growing out of his left nostril. I somehow didn’t notice them before, but now I’m sitting opposite him in a café they loom very large. It’s a damp, drizzly evening. I was fine while we were walking here and talking about databases, but as soon as I sat down I felt like a woman in a Russian novel. I long for my lost innocence like those women long for Moscow. I long for the time when the sadness I felt was at least familiar – and the people who played a part in it were too.
It’s at times like these that I truly wish I’d never found that hair grip.
Eoin is trying to be cheerful and friendly. The fact that I manage the occasional smile seems a triumph of the human spirit. There’s no shorthand between us like there is between me and Charlie. Sometimes it feels like the letters in our words aren’t even joined up. Every so often I find myself losing heart and stopping mid-way.
‘I think I’ll have a toasted san…’
‘What?’
‘Sandwich. I think I’ll have a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich.’
‘Fine. I think I’ll have one too. That’s a nice brooch you’re wearing.’
‘Thanks.’
The café is no frills and brisk. There’s neon lighting, bentwood chairs, and small round tables with plastic cloths on them. Ourtable rocks and has a streak of coleslaw.
‘I suppose we’d better queue,’ says Eoin.
‘It always amazes me that they don’t have a place to put the tea-bags,’ I fume as we return to our table. ‘I mean what are we supposed to dowith them? Just let them stew in the cup?’
‘Here, use this,’ says Eoin, shoving a saucer towards me.
‘Thanks. I’ve really got to do something about this table. It’s ridiculous the way it rocks.’
I march up to the counterand yank a fistful of napkins out of the small steel container. Then I come back and wedge two under a table leg and use the rest to get rid of the coleslaw streak.
Eoin takes the evening newspaperout of his jacket pocket and spreads it sideways on part of the
I wonder if I should tell him Katie thinks she might be a lesbian, but I decide against it. As the second course is served I wonder if I should mention my tea date with Eoin tomorrow, but I decide against that too.
It’s funny but suddenly I’m quite enjoying this lunch. It’s nice sitting here with Bruce, my brooch, and our second bottle of Chilean wine. There’s a poignant, illicit feeling about it. Bruce hasn’t been so attentive in years.
‘I always know when you’re drunk. Your face goes all fuzzy,’ says Bruce. It’s an old joke that always makes us laugh.
Then he grows more serious. ‘Come home with me. Come home with me right now.’
‘And what’ll we do when we get there? Watch Teletubbies? ’
‘I have something rather different in mind.’
Bruce can be very sexy when he wants to be. His voice gets a bit husky and his eyes grow dark and tender. It’s been so long now. It would be nice to be held close. The anger would make it exciting. Yes, it would be nice to thrash around again under our big duvet. To fuck. To forget.
And then the image of the fake diamond hair grip swims before me. It’s lying there, stuck into a peach coloured pillowcase, just like the day I found it.
‘I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing!’ I get up and fling down my napkin. ‘Have you no sensitivity at all?’
The couple beside us are openly gawking.
‘Jasmine, come back. I didn’t mean to – ’
‘I’m not a pigeon!’ I yell. And then I grab my coat.
Back at the computer course I make myself a strong cup of tea. Then I tell Mrs Riordan I have a period pain and go and sit in the ladies’. The toilet paper is that shiny stupid stuff that’s no good for tears, and I only have one paper handkerchief with me.
I should have taken some tissues from that big box in the restaurant loo…but I really didn’t think I’d need them.
Chapter 7
Eoin has four remarkably long hairs growing out of his left nostril. I somehow didn’t notice them before, but now I’m sitting opposite him in a café they loom very large. It’s a damp, drizzly evening. I was fine while we were walking here and talking about databases, but as soon as I sat down I felt like a woman in a Russian novel. I long for my lost innocence like those women long for Moscow. I long for the time when the sadness I felt was at least familiar – and the people who played a part in it were too.
It’s at times like these that I truly wish I’d never found that hair grip.
Eoin is trying to be cheerful and friendly. The fact that I manage the occasional smile seems a triumph of the human spirit. There’s no shorthand between us like there is between me and Charlie. Sometimes it feels like the letters in our words aren’t even joined up. Every so often I find myself losing heart and stopping mid-way.
‘I think I’ll have a toasted san…’
‘What?’
‘Sandwich. I think I’ll have a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich.’
‘Fine. I think I’ll have one too. That’s a nice brooch you’re wearing.’
‘Thanks.’
The café is no frills and brisk. There’s neon lighting, bentwood chairs, and small round tables with plastic cloths on them. Ourtable rocks and has a streak of coleslaw.
‘I suppose we’d better queue,’ says Eoin.
‘It always amazes me that they don’t have a place to put the tea-bags,’ I fume as we return to our table. ‘I mean what are we supposed to dowith them? Just let them stew in the cup?’
‘Here, use this,’ says Eoin, shoving a saucer towards me.
‘Thanks. I’ve really got to do something about this table. It’s ridiculous the way it rocks.’
I march up to the counterand yank a fistful of napkins out of the small steel container. Then I come back and wedge two under a table leg and use the rest to get rid of the coleslaw streak.
Eoin takes the evening newspaperout of his jacket pocket and spreads it sideways on part of the
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